Aboard the Helicarrier
by Burnt Skull
Summary: Dean was going to kill Gabriel because the last thing he wanted to do that day was clean the dirty floors of the Helicarrier's prison in the Marvel universe while being taunted by Loki. Scratch that, Dean was going to torture the bastard first.
1. Gabriel's Scheduled Torture and Death

**Enjoy, if you want more, review. I'm kinda greedy. Just a warning. I still love you guys though. Sorry, that was uncalled for. We aren't at that stage in our relationship yet, are we?**

 **Anywho.**

 **Warnings: The word 'Fuck', 'Fucking', 'Motherfucking' and 'Shit' is used quite a bit in this chapter and maybe entire story. I hope you aren't offended by the English language.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own shit. The Avengers and Supernatural belong to their rightful owners.**

Dean grumbled angrily as he violently slapped the mop to the grimy floor and raked it across it. All the while, a nasty frown on his lips.

"Fucking Gabriel…" he snarled and added a bit more force on the mop to the floor. "Fucking Archangels… fucking dicks… fucking tricksters…"

"Would you mind not using such language? It is rude."

Looking up from the nasty-ass floor, Dean gave the prisoner locked up in a glass chamber a few meters away a nasty glare.

"Shove it." Dean said and continued abusing the mop and ground.

Loki fixed him with a look but Dean wasn't looking. The look was penetrating and full of disgust and rage.

"Insignificant human. Watch your mouth."

"In-" Dean gave the prisoner a long calculating look, trying to determine if it was worth it. In the long run, he didn't have the energy to deal with a snobby alien. "Whatever."

Loki only huffed and went back to pacing his glass dome of a cell. The alien began muttering under his breath rapidly, not caring who heard or who saw.

Dean only shook his head and gave the mop another vicious shove.

He swore, when he got out of this stupid dimension, he was going to kick Gabriel's ass six ways to Sunday. He meant, seriously? The Marvel universe? Not saying he wasn't a fan, cause as a kid he had been, but growing up had changed that.

As a kid, after Mary's death, Dean hadn't had any time for comics or really any kind of game and had instead given everything he had once found entertaining to Sammy.

As a grown up, he had learned that there was a very strict line between fantasy and reality and if you didn't know where that line stood, then you were dead. It was just a matter of survival. Surviving was Dean's top priority and if he was gone, then who was left to take care of Sammy?

He had responsibilities and playing in the fantasy realm of Marvel and DC comics was not one of them and it never would be because of their hunter careers.

"Why are you here?"

Inhaling in a way to try to stave off the annoyance and conserve the patience, Dean looked at the pale prisoner mere yards away, sealed permanently in his little bubble.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, wondering if the bastard had gone off the reservation already.

Loki gained a very irritated look and opened his mouth, careful to pronounce each and every syllable with a tightened jaw, "Why are you here?"

Dean cast him a deadpanned look. "I'm on vacation, what does it look like?"

There was a blotch of darkness that seemed to be seared into the ground directly under Dean's feet and he became determined to remove it as he began scrubbing restlessly at the stain.

The locked up alien gave a viciously annoyed look. "Do not get snarky with me, human. I am asking you a question. You would do best to answer."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, not really paying attention as he scrubbed the stain with a bit more force. "I swear…" he muttered, "this fucking stain…"

"Having some problems?" Loki asked snidely.

Dean gave up on the stain finally and breathed deeply.

"I'm going to fucking murder Gabriel."

* * *

Director Fury scrutinized the video evidence and pictures and even statements that concluded that Dean Winchester was fully certified to be a janitor of the prison holding cells that were held in the Helicarrier's most secure area.

Just, really, none of it was adding up in Nick Fury's head though. He never remembered signing Dean into the Helicarrier's personnel. He never remembered even meeting Dean Winchester but Agent Coulson did, the agent even said he was a level headed guy, which meant, Fury was missing some memories.

Now, it could just be him getting on in years.

Or this could be a major security breach that has had everyone fooled except for himself which was definitely worse than anything because if that was the issue, then they were dealing with a major player.

Fury pushed a holographic image of Dean Winchester to the side and brought up the man's credentials.

Clean, expertly done. Nothing too bad but still, nothing too clean. Spotless. Flawless.

Apparently, Dean grew up with two loving parents, one John Winchester, the other Mary Winchester. Both parents were spotless as well but had died only two years ago due to cancer. Dean had a younger brother named Samuel Winchester but said brother died in a car accident when Dean was only 12.

Going further, deeper into the file, Fury continued to read.

Deanna Campbell and Samuel Campbell, Mary Winchester's parents. Both clean, nothing incriminating except for a few drunk and disorderly accounts but nothing too serious.

Henry Winchester and Susan Winchester, parents of John Winchester. Both clean.

There was absolutely no evidence that Dean was anything but a good and clean citizen of the United States. Nothing drew his attention and nothing looked too strange.

Mumbling incoherently, Fury closed the entire fie and deleted all history of the search.

* * *

Dean munched quietly on the burrito in the cafeteria of the Helicarrier. The perpetual frown that had once marred his face had now died down to a carefully constructed blank face. It would do no good to raise suspicion with his ever horrible mood.

Taking another bite of the one good thing to come out of being dragged into another dimension, Dean smiled a little.

It'd been forever since he'd last had something to eat this good. He should probably save some later for when Gabriel would drag his ass back to the other dimension.

Hopefully the dick would hurry the hell up because sooner or later, Dean was going to lose his shit (it was only a matter of time) and he was gonna castrate that motherfucker of an Archangel.

"Hey Dean!"

At the new overly cheerful voice, Dean wanted nothing more but to groan and slam his head repeatedly against the table. Looking up, he smiled at the bright young woman who'd sat herself across from him. He swore to God, the woman had to be related to Gabriel some way or the other.

The only thing that kept him from setting her on fire with holy oil right then and there was the fact that there was the slim chance that she was just a human with a bubbly personality.

"Hey…" Dean managed with a small plastic smile. He trailed off, having no frigging clue as to what her actual name was.

The lack of greetings didn't seem to deter her in the least but actually seemed to spur her on as she opened her mouth excitedly. "So, have you heard?"

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, desperate to keep himself from just telling her to save it and back off. "Heard what?" he replied, somewhat regrettably.

She only giggled, "One of the Avengers is going to be coming aboard with another alien! They're gonna take Loki, the prisoner and transfer him to another planet!"

"Oh, really?" Dean managed, not really caring at all as he continued to devour his food as if he was a starving man. "Cool."

She smiled at him. "I know, right? I mean, the real life superheroes? That's so awesome!"

Dean gave her a smile and nodded before going back to his meal. Weren't super-secret agents supposed to be level headed and quiet and former assassins and... not this? He felt a headache coming on and wanted only to groan in frustration.

He missed Sammy, Cas and his precious Impala.

"Hey, are you alright?" she questioned, suddenly lowering her voice. "You aren't sick are you?"

Part of Dean just wanted to scream at her to get the hell away from him or else he would go ahead and set her on fire while the other half told him to simply ignore her.

"'M fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Dean ground out. "I am perfectly fine. Just a little tired is all."

"Oh," she gained a look of understanding and nodded sympathetically, "okay."

"Well," she spoke up again, her voice cheerful once more, "I'll leave you alone. Just remember to get some sleep tonight!"

And without a further exchange of words, she was gone, leaving behind a very exhausted and irritated Dean to finish his meal in peace.

Muttering to himself about crazy women and assholes for angels, Dean finally retired to his sleeping quarters. After crawling into the warmth of the bed, one way more comfortable than any he'd ever slept on before, he fell asleep quickly but without the lingering thoughts of wanting most of all to see his bitchy baby brother again.

* * *

Dean got up before the alarm, unusual since Sam was the one to always wake him. But nonetheless, he crawled out of bed and got dressed, in the uniform supplied by the agency he apparently served, and made his way out of the tiny room and towards the cafeteria where they stored the caffeine.

He had a vague notion that the time was somewhere around 4 to 5 o'clock but it never bothered him if he got his regular supply of coffee.

Shrugging through the doors and into the lounging room of the on board café, Dean made himself some coffee that tasted vaguely like the shit he usually got. It made him feel a bit more at home with Sammy by his side.

"Up this early, really?"

Too tired and trained, Dean didn't even flinch as he turned to see a new face.

"Helps me get in the mood to not want to maim anyone." he answered simply.

The man chuckled. He was average height with piercing blue eyes and ruffled dirty blonde hair. He wore casual clothes but sat and shifted silently, giving off the air of some sort of trained assassin like most of the other agents in this stupid flying apartment.

Standing, the other man stuck his hand out. "Clint Barton."

Shifting forward with silent steps and nimble moves, Dean took the man's hand and shook it. "Dean Winchester. Nice to meet ya."

Clint gave him a long look before smiling and moving to sit back down again, a mug of steaming coffee secured tightly in his hands.

"Are you an agent?"

Dean sat down across from the man. "Nah." he said, a hint of a smirk itching at his lips, "Jus' the janitor."

A look of something akin to disbelief crossed Clint's face. "No, really?"

"Yep."

"Then who trained you?" Clint asked, his eyes narrowed and face twisted up in concentration.

Dean looked at the agent in mock confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Clint gave him a look, "What? Really? You move silently, your center of gravity is always perfect. Hell, I even watched you check all the exits when you walked in here."

Dean managed to stifle the embarrassment at being caught doing his normal routine checks but only shrugged. "I had to learn from a young age how to stay alive, I guess." he said simply.

Understanding crossed the man's face across from him and Clint nodded. "Oh." was all he said before returning his attention to his coffee and taking a long drawn out sip.

"Hm." Dean replied, not bothering with words as he too took a long gulp of coffee. It woke him up a bit and he shook his head to get rid of any hazy thoughts.

"So, why are you here?" Clint asked half mindedly as he moved his mug around, watching the liquid inside slosh and spin.

Taking another chug of his drink, Dean snarled. "Because an asshole who thinks he's god decided to throw me in here."

Clint raised an eyebrow but Dean didn't bother saying anything more.

"So an 'asshole' just decided to throw you in here?" he questioned, disbelief coloring his tone. "You do know that this is a high security organization that specializes in terrorist attacks and alien activity, right?"

Dean took another drag of his coffee. "Yup."

Clint just shook his head and chugged down the rest of his own drink while muttering to himself. "The people you meet in the morning."

* * *

 **Did you like? Hate it? Well, review if you want more.**


	2. Guns and Agents and That one Janitor

**Oh wow. I really appreciate all the support you all are giving me and I would just like to let you all know that your commentary and likes have really helped me write this chapter. I really hope you enjoy this one but before I begin, I'd like to give shout outs to all who helped me on my way…**

 **Thank you all:** _ **Guest,**_ _ **cbelits, DancingWolves101, REBEL, Beakers47, I, Psychee, Nadarhem, Guest, Arlaeflores, Sohpielouhoo, Guest, Heatherstrike, Sparky199, toolazytologin, Guest, i-know-joe, Guest, LostBoys4ever, Kiota-chan, professionalemail101, Kaddy16, PipersLostChild, commoner246, Charlie Corduroy, Guest and Someone.**_ **Seriously, thank you all for reviewing. You all helped kicked my ass into gear to write this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I could try and take over the world and rule Supernatural and Marvel as mine but that'd require me getting out of bed and I'm too lazy for that. Oh well. Maybe another time. ¯\\_(** **ツ** **)_/¯**

* * *

It was Dean Winchester's sixth day on the Helicarrier in the Marvel universe. In fact, it was not driving him insane. Maybe making him a tiny bit annoyed with the idiots that surrounded him but other than that, he was controlling himself.

He had to take this seriously because all options read, his situation was basically considered a hunt.

Taking another sip of his much appreciated coffee, Dean visualized all of his plans and options.

He'd recently discovered that there were still things that go bump in the night but they were considered a part of today's society, if not a little hated by the racist side of humanity, the ones unwilling to accept change. All in all, Dean was suspicious of the supposedly nice monsters or mutants as they called them, but otherwise choose to keep his distance.

He didn't need any distractions.

Gabriel was his hunt because just the thought of roasting that dick in holy fire gave Dean a warm and fuzzy feeling. Other than the rogue Archangel, he didn't have much to look up to because he was fucking stuck in a flying metal building surrounded by naïve idiots.

Basically, a normal setting save for the superheroes and practically impossible technology.

Dean sighed tiredly as he rubbed his eyes.

He was so freaking tired of everything fucking up in his and Sam's lives.

Again, his thoughts led to his own world. Yeah, it may have been shitty and his entire family tree may have been dead and all of his friends were gone but it was still home. And plus, he still had Sammy and Cas. Those two were the only things that had been holding him down to reality and most likely vice versa.

With all the things going on in their lives nowadays, Dean wouldn't be surprised if he went bat shit crazy somehow and somewhere along the way.

As of now, a mental asylum didn't sound all that bad.

Exhaling once more, Dean brought his hands together and rested them against his lips, his elbows supported by the small lunch table he sat at.

"Hey Cas," he muttered, his voice rough and low, careful not to be heard by any peeping ears, "you know, whenever you can help, I don't know, bring me _back home_ , it'd be great."

Yet again, he prayed.

"Cas. Please, please get your feathery ass down here and take me back to the Bunker. I'm in the Marvel universe… which you probably don't know anything about. Just go to Sam. Castiel," he sighed the final word, "help."

"Praying?"

Startled at the sudden voice, Dean looked up to see the vaguely familiar face of Clint staring down at him with cocked eyebrows.

Screaming at himself for letting his guard down, Dean smiled, caution flashing in his green eyes. "Nah," he grinned, all teeth and no play, "just talkin' to myself."

Clint gave him an 'oh really?' look before seating himself across from Dean, "So you're up at this time every day? Thought it was just a onetime thing since you don't have to work till one in the afternoon."

Dean's lips lifted in a little smirk. "Researching me? And I thought we had something special."

Clint laughed. "Yeah, well, it's strange seeing another person up this early. I thought it was just me and Nat."

Dean raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his coffee. His shoulders were relaxed more than usual but his body was still tense. His back was carefully turned towards one of the blank walls while he had all three exits in sight.

"Who's Nat?"

Clint smiled. For some reason the man before him just gave off the air of understanding and trust and he couldn't help but get sucked into it. "Just a friend I usually go on missions with."

"Oh?" Dean said. "Cool."

Once again, his thoughts strayed towards his brother but he immediately whipped the descending memories off his mind. He had more important things to worry about, such as gaining an ally that could potentially help him out of his situation and working his way into an information outlet.

"Yup." Clint replied coolly as he too took another drink from his beverage.

Quiet and not at all uncomfortable silence reigned as Dean continued trying to keep his mind off his brother who was probably running around right now like a worrying mother who'd lost her child. A tiny smile worked its way up onto Dean's lips at the simple image that greeted him at the thought.

"So, you got a family?"

Dean looked at the other man with narrowed eyes before shaking his head and lying straight through his teeth. "Nah."

It was a familiar lie that had morphed into a kneejerk reaction over the years. Demons, angels, monsters. Nothing was good in his world and so the least he could do was lie and protect his brother to the questions that almost always flew right at him to try and get at him through his last remaining family.

Sad thing was, almost every single supernatural thing knew he had a brother named Sam. The cons of being famous, he guessed.

"Ah, only child?" Clint questioned.

Dean smirked, "Yup."

Silence won over once again, dragging all sound out as the two men sipped at their varying cups of caffeine.

"Hey," Clint suddenly said after clearing his voice of remaining liquid, "do you know how to handle a gun?"

Dean mulled the questioned over in his head before deciding it was safe. The last thing he wanted was to be cast off the flying ship and further complicate things with Castiel and Gabriel the asshole.

"Yeah. My dad taught me how to shoot."

Clint's face twisted with interest. "On what?"

Dean chuckled, "Winchester 30-30, 94 ranger. First gun I ever handled."

Clint laughed. "Funny." he said, "First gun you've ever handled then? How many have you had?"

"'Bout all of them." Dean replied, his face carefully blank to gauge the reaction and to see whether he screwed up or not telling the truth.

There was a look of carefully hidden wariness that passed Clint's face but the man otherwise smiled and laughed. "Oh really? Little weird for a janitor, don't you think?"

Dean shrugged, smirking. "I get around."

"Okay," Clint said, "then what do you say we go to the shooting range and see you in action?"

Dean bit his cheek as he thought about it carefully. "Sure." He finally decided. This would probably be the only time he could take his anger and put it to some use without killing anyone.

A smile stretched Clint's lips as the blonde haired man finished his drink and stood up from the table.

Dean, who was still slurping his coffee calmly looked up with a faintly surprised look. "Now?" he asked, a frown on his lips.

"Yeah," Clint said, shooting a raised eyebrow look over to his fellow coffee drinker. "Why not?"

Dean stared at the man, wary. He'd seen and had actually been fooled by enough tricks and lies to begin to understand the line between truth and false. He could easily detect a lie by now and Clint wasn't. He seemed honest to god interested in his capability to fire a gun.

It only made him even more wary.

* * *

They'd only just made it to the shooting range part of the training room when Natasha came into view, holding a gun and staring at a faraway target with dazed unblinking eyes.

To Dean, this was never a good sign, especially in a hunter. It could mean a potential psychotic break particularly with the way the red headed woman handled the gun. The blank kind of look and the lax shoulders, slightly parted lips and the calm breathing.

Those were signs of hard thinking, life expectancy and the meaning to life kind of thoughts.

Those thoughts never led down a straight and narrow track. Dean knew from experience that when a hunter began to think, hard and long about what they were doing and what it all meant, there was always going to be consequences, mental and or physical.

These trains of thought led him further down into the pits of grief and hatred deep within him. Memories of Charlie, her bright red hair always bouncing along with her upbeat and awkward personality and memories of her lifeless body, dumped in a bathtub in the middle of nowhere, with blood soaking her shirt and lips. They popped up, one by one and choked sobs almost made their way to his throat before he shut it all down.

With a blink, it was all gone, his mind completely whipped clean as of the moment. No hidden grief ridden with guilt. Nothing. Without anything to expand on, Dean refocused on what was before him.

Blinking confusedly, Dean watched as Clint smiled with familiarity and started to stalk up to the lost in thought woman, who was still holding the gun in a slightly cocked position mind you. Having a moment of clarity, he realized this must be a friend, maybe even the 'Nat' Clint spoke of in the cafeteria.

"Natasha!"

Dean watched the woman's head whip to them, gun aimed high and one eyebrow raised in question at the calling of her name.

Clint raised his arms, not seeming to be bothered in the least at her aggression.

Dean, however, didn't know her. Didn't know if she would go through with it and shoot them or maybe just him. His entire body tensed and he barely held back from pulling out his knife, apparently the only weapon the systems in the prison sector would let him get through with.

The flight or fight response kicked in and immediately knowing he didn't really have a chance of going at her and winning against her if he only had a knife while she owned a gun. Of course, he would have been able to defeat some meager wannabe who wasn't an expert in the gun department with a single knife but by the way she stood and of how Clint had said they'd gone on missions together, he gathered she was more than an inexperienced child.

Jaw tightening, and shoulders tensing, Dean made a split second choice. He could either run and hide and plan an attack or he could trust Clint.

Trust was an almost foreign emotion when not dealing with his brother. Trusting random strangers in alternate realities was not really his forte but…

Hoping to whatever stupid god was still out there, Dean went with his instincts and trusted that Clint had this handled.

"Clint?"

Dean saw the look of recognition on the red headed woman's face and the glance that was thrown at him. Natasha, as she was called by Clint, lowered her weapon but didn't smile at the grin on Clint's face.

Dean got the feeling she didn't smile a lot. Maybe it was a stranger thing?

"What are you doing here?" she questioned. "Aren't you supposed to be at a meeting?"

Clint waved his hand, as if swatting a fly. "Nah, canceled it a few hours ago.

Natasha didn't falter. "You don't get up until 5." she replied plainly not really accusing him of anything.

Clint just shrugged, not bothering with a reply. He turned back to Dean who was just slightly behind him and off to the side. "Dean, this is Natasha!" he chipped before twirling back around towards Natasha, "Nat, this is Dean!"

Dean caught the slightest quirk of the red headed woman's lips. He smiled anyways, if not to be polite than to woo her. After all, she was quite the woman with the wide hips and just the perfect amount of cleavage. The full lips and the wide blue eyes. Of course he wasn't going to invest anytime in her if she was interested. He had to draw the line somewhere and trying to get to his alternate universe was far more important than a one night stand.

Anyways, she looked like the type of woman who stood for no man; the type of woman that would castrate a man for even touching her without permission.

The simple innocent assumption brought up memories of Ellen and her overwhelming anger and force and for the love of Sam's girlishness, he could do without the continuous reminders of what once was and what would never be. Almost growling in frustration at the nonstop interrupting reminiscences, Dean managed to nod at her, seeing as she wasn't giving a hand to shake.

Clint clapped his hands and nodded in approval. "Okay then. Well, I was just going to see here how good Dean is at shooting, care to join us?"

Dean watched her reaction carefully, noting how it was almost impossible to decipher what she was thinking.

It disturbed him how well she could hide her emotions.

Natasha shook her head, her hair bouncing along with the motion. There was something in her eyes that looked mighty close to regret but Dean didn't look any closer.

"I have some things to take care of. Maybe later." She smiled at Clint and threw another glance off to Dean but otherwise didn't bother with any more words and instead stalked off, her heals clacking along behind her.

Clint hummed to himself before looking over to Dean, a small grin on his face. "Well, still up for shooting?"

Dean nodded, not having anywhere to be until 3. "Yeah, sure." he said. Plus, he still had a lot of pent up anger to take care of. Hopefully the feeling of gripping a gun once more would sooth his being for a short time at least.

One could only hope when dealing with that bitchy little dickhead Gabriel.

* * *

 **I found some fucking awesome one liner insults Dean can throw at people and I can't fucking wait to use them!**

 **Anyways, review your thoughts. I love your comments. I appreciate all criticism but try to stay away from the flames.**

 **Thank you all for your support! Review if you want another chapter!**

* * *

 **Sorry guys but I just have to rant about the premiere of Supernatural's 11th season. Please try not to read what is below if you haven't seen the episode. There are** _ **A LOT OF SPOILERS**_ **.**

 **Okay so… holy fucking fuck.**

 **First of all, I really don't think Jensen and Jared are really trying to be that much enthusiastic in their acting anymore. It kind of feels flat, well in that episode and in some of season 10. But seriously? Did you guys see in the first part where Sam hits his head in the Impala? I felt like Jared wasn't even trying in that one.**

 **I'm laughing so hard right now because as a fan who has watched every single episode around two times, I still can't find it in myself to ever stop watching this wonderful show.**

 **On that one part where Castiel (who is still being affected by Rowena's spell) is hiding in a family's barn and is found by the boy? Yeah, that one part was very flat to me. When the boy found Castiel and was aiming a shotgun at the angel, he didn't even scream for his dad or brother to come help him or even to just confirm that he'd found the intruder.**

 **Castiel had marched up to the boy and demanded the boy not shoot or else he would hurt him. Okay. So that's fine with me, I get it. The spell is still affecting him and he doesn't know if he can control it anymore. But the boy** _ **still**_ **doesn't call for his father and yeah there may be certain things that were happening in that boy's life that prompted him not to scream but really? He looked old enough to tell when to get over his emotions and scream for help.**

 **AS FOR THE FAMILY'S SHOOTING…**

 **Oh my fucking Chuck. I swear. That family LIVED IN A RURAL HOME in the middle of the presumed WOODS and yet they couldn't aim for shit.** _ **Come on.**_ **Yes, there could be a complication such as the family being new to the woods and the whole new hunter life but they looked used to and obviously knew where to go and where to step when chasing after Castiel which meant they had been there for** _ **some**_ **time.**

 **And usually the writers of Supernatural are good at that. They can make it all seem realistic by how much Sam and Dean get hurt because in reality, people who hunt for a living, they** _ **don't miss a shot**_ **. The Supernatural writers make sure there's no unrealistic happenings (not including supernatural entities) such as someone surviving the shots of three people aiming straight at their completely out in the open body.**

 **This is why this show has so many deaths (including Sam and Dean's multiple deaths); it's because in real life, if this were happening, this is how it all would go.**

 **So, skipping to the end of the episode, I would just like to say: fucking Christ what the fuck was that?**

 **I'm sure you all fucking saw the mark of Cain on that fucking baby (sorry for my increase of swearing) and I swear to god if Dean had something to do with that because of his little randevu with the Darkness woman, I'm going to cough up my own lungs and shove them so far up Jenson's ass.**

 **I swear, that fucker kisses and fucks anything he can find. (The TV character. Not Jensen. I'm sure he's a loyal husband.) I just hope to Chuck that he didn't kiss her because the last flashback he had was of him and her, too close to be comfortable, glancing down at each other's lips.**

 ***forms praying position***

 **Please god and creator of bacon. Please don't let Dean fuck the Darkness bitch. I beg of you lord and almighty whoserealnameisactuallyChuckbutIwontmentionthat.**

 **Alright. As a conclusion to my ridiculously long and obnoxious rant, I plead guilty to boring those of you who had to scroll through this to get to the end of this page.**

 **You may continue my fellow worshippers of Supernatural and Marvel.**


End file.
